


Murdoc's a Bad Friend

by TheGeekySquirrel



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Damon & Jamie are there for like Five Seconds, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Medicinal Drug Use, Murdoc's an Asshole, No Romantic 2Doc, Other, Phase One (Gorillaz), Physical Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Recreational Drug Use, Russel's Done With This Shit™, Smoking, Stu is a Mess, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, slice of life-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-06-11 21:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15324843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGeekySquirrel/pseuds/TheGeekySquirrel
Summary: So, Stu's got a new flatmate, a new best friend, and a new life ahead of him. He's just hoping he makes it out of this situation without coming to rely on his newly awakened companion too much.That may be much harder than he originally thought.This is a sequel to my work from a few years ago, Stu-Pot is a Bad Driver. I highly suggest checking that one out before reading this one.Putting this fic on a brief hiatus before I reach burnout with it, I'll be back soon





	1. The Calm

**Author's Note:**

> So, before we dive in, I'd like to say real quick that this fic will deal with heavy issues including but not limited to emotional, verbal, and physical abuse; how a person can get into an abusive relationship; depression and other mental disorders; and developing a reliance on drugs. I'm hoping to add trigger warnings to the beginning notes of all my chapters, but there may be some triggers that I miss. If I do, please do not hesitate to tell me and I'll get it fixed ASAP.
> 
> Like I said, this is a sequel to another of my fics, which I'd like for you to read before reading this one. I'll give a quick summary to those who don't have that time though. Basically, 2D ran Murdoc over instead & it follows him taking care of everyone's favorite Satanist for a year. Paula was dealt with in that fic, so she's probably not going to have a role in this one. The biggest difference between this AU and the canon is that Murdoc has brain damage, making him more irritable, so don't get pissed off if he's too mean. 2D still has his black eyes, he just doesn't have crippling headaches all the time.
> 
> I think that's it for now. I'll talk to you again at the end of the chapter, lovelies.

“Aw fuck, my ‘ead. Stu, where the ‘ell are my pills?!”

  


It had been one month, five days, and two hours since Murdoc had woken up. His former caretaker, Stuart Pot, had invited him to share the flat, considering the other's “friends” hadn’t looked to visit Murdoc until after the second accident. Right this second, he was really regretting that choice. This motherfucker was the biggest arsehole he had ever met in his damn life and-

  


“Stu-Pot! Where the fuck are my pills?!”

  


“Alrigh’ alrigh’, ah got ‘em righ’ here. Give me a second an’ I’ll bring ‘em to ya,” he yelled back. The blue-haired man stared at his eyeless reflection for a few more seconds before finally pulling open the cabinet and retrieving their shared bottle. Apparently, the only cure to Murdoc’s newfound migraines was the same as Stuart’s- a special blend of pills dear Mrs. Pot sent to them. The singer closed the mirror again, almost scaring himself with his own reflection. He still wasn’t used to seeing two totally black eyes and no front teeth. Russel assured him that he'd come to like his new face soon, but Stu still noticed that their employer wouldn’t look him in the eye anymore. 

  


Stuart left the bathroom with a sigh, tossing the pills onto the couch, where Murdoc sat complaining. The latter grumbled as he took his share and tossed the bottle back, “I don’t get why we gotta limit ourselves. We just gotta write your mum for a new bottle, yeah? It’s not like your mum’s gonna let her poor little baby boy be in pain ‘cause he’s usin’ too many pills.”

  


“Trust me, she will. Ah tried to pull tha’ shit in high school an’ she cut me off for a month. Wot time is it?”

  


“‘Bout seven, why?”

  


“Shit!” the younger quickly put up the bottle and rushed to the door, “‘M supposed t’ be there in thirty minutes. Russel’s countin’ on me t’ be on time. Ah gotta go. You’ll keep lookin’ for a job while ‘m gone, yeah? Ah can’ be th’ only one supporting us, y’know?”

  


“Yeah yeah, I’m on it. You’re not gettin’ back ‘till late tonight, rrrrright?”

  


Stuart rolled his eyes as he grabbed his keys, “Yeah. Dun trash th’ place, m’kay? Landlord’ll throw us out if iss a mess.”

  


“Whatever, I got it. You go. Oh, and tell that Russel bloke I wanna see him tonight, will ya?”

  


The elder man laid back down on the couch. Stu rolled his eyes again and got out of there. He ran all the way to the store. The luckiest thing about it all was the lack of rain. Russel was just unlocking the front doors as he came up. The drummer side eyed his friend suspiciously, “You’re almost late,  _ again _ . What was it this time?”

  


“Muds couldn’ find his old car keys. ‘Ad to help ‘im search through all of ‘is boxes of shit to find ‘em. Dunno if ‘e even knows where ‘e parked th’ damn thing. Called it the ‘Winniebago’. Isn’ tha’ juss the stupidest name for a car you’ve evah ‘eard?” the singer said as they went inside. Russel gave him another odd look, “Stu, that’s a real kind of vehicle. I think it’s a RV or some shit.”

  


“Oh. Well, he still prolly doesn’ know where it is. At least ah know he ain’ gonna go lookin’ for it today.”

  


Russel went to hang up his bag, as usual, “Why’s that?”

  


“Migraine. ‘E’s gonna be lookin’ for me mum’s pills all day, even though ah already gave ‘im his dose this mornin’,” Stu got the broom out and started sweeping, “Not tha’ he’ll listen to me. ‘M juss worried abou’ th’ day when he  _ does _ find those bloody pills. That’ll be a hospital trip for sure.”

  


Russel laughed and threw the dustpan in his general direction, “Good idea, sweepin’ up before we open. The boss man’s dropping in today, remember? We oughta keep this place clean, just in case he decides to show up early.”

  


“Ah thought he wos pretty cool.”

  


“He is, but it’s still nice to make sure he comes to a clean store.”

  


“Oh, alrigh’,” Stu said as he got to work. Right after they officially opened up, it began raining. A pair of blokes who’d been loudly talking outside ran into the store, both soaking wet. They looked at each other and laughed. Stu could almost recognize one of them, but he gave up the ghost pretty quickly, it was too much effort. The one he thought he knew looked at him and swore, “Shit, mate, what happened to your eyes?”

  


“Hm? Oh, car accidents.”

  


The other looked up and gasped, “I need paper, holy shit, this guy is fucking incredible. I need to fucking draw him right goddamn now, Damon, where’s that fucking pencil I gave you?”

  


The first dug around in his pockets until he produced the item, then the second took it and ran up to the counter, “Do you have any paper I can use?”

  


Russel passed an old receipt over the counter. The second young man, presumably an artist, began furiously drawing something, presumably Stuart. His friend continued to look at the singer, carefully surveying him, “How’d a car accident do  _ that _ to your eyes?”

  


“It’s an eight-ball fracture, man. His skull is literally dented on both sides, so his eyes have filled up with blood,” Russel explained. The second person looked up at him and swore again, then redoubled his efforts. The first, Damon his friend had said, crossed his arms, “So, what do they call you?”

  


“Stuart, Stu-Pot to m’ friends. You’re Damon, yeah? Tha’s what the otha bloke called you, righ’?”

  


“Yeah, I’m Damon. He’s Jamie. Sorry about him, by the way. He just goes crazy when someone looks interesting and  _ has _ to immediately draw them,” the bloke said as he started going through their records. The artist, Jamie, whistled, “You, two dents-”

  


“Stuart”

  


“Whatever, get over here. I wanna see if I’m missing anything.”

  


The blue-haired boy walked over with a sigh. Russel gave him a look, as if to ask if Stu found this as crazy as the American did. Stuart simply shrugged. He started yawning, but was startled out of it when the artist shouted. 

  


“Why didn’t you tell me you were missing teeth?!”

  


He went back to his paper with a vendetta. After another second, he shoved it away, “There, enjoy your free art. Damon, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  


“Have you gone daft? It’s fucking raining outside, we’ll get soaked!”

  


“Fuck it, I want to go home. Later, fellas.”

  


Jamie pulled Damon out of the store and they disappeared down the street. Stuart exchanged looks with his coworker, who picked up the paper, “Holy shit dude, he got you perfectly! That’s fucking you, Stu!”

  


The singer looked at the drawing and nearly cried out. It really was him, if his top lip jutted out a bit more. He looked at the other doodle on the page, “An’ tha’s you, Russel! Holy shit, that guy is really good!”

  


It looked just like Russel, if he were a bit bigger. He’d even gotten the American’s signature hat down perfectly. The two exchanged looks again, this time both of them astonished. When they spoke, it was simultaneous.

  


“Murdoc’s gotta see this.”

  


“Del’s gotta see this.”

  


They both laughed. Stuart picked up the drawing and spoke through his own guffaws, “Look, Muds wants t’ see you tonight anyways. We can go t’ my place togevah after work an’ show him then. Then you can take it home an’ show Del.”

  


“Sounds good to me. I wonder what that asshole wants, anyways.”

  


“Prolly sumfin’ stupid. Tha’s juss how he rolls.”

  


Stuart’s comment made his companion chuckle once more before they settled into their routine. About halfway through the day, their boss called to tell them he couldn’t come in due to the rain, which worked perfectly fine for both of them. Once they were done for the day, they packed up and headed out. All the way to Stu’s place, they joked and laughed. That is, until Russel noticed something parked along the street. 

  


“Uh, Stu? Remember when you said Murdoc was lookin’ for his keys to a Winniebago?”

  


“Yeah, wh-”

  


The singer finally noticed it as well, it being a giant RV. He pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the oncoming headache. 

  


“Murdoc…”

  


“Yeah. Let’s go see if this  _ thing  _ has anything to do with what he wants.”

  


They made their way up the stairs rather quickly. Everything seemed totally unassuming, even once they got in the flat. In fact, it was cleaner than it had been in the month since the bastard had woken up. Speaking of the bastard, he was talking on the phone in the hallway. 

  


“Alrighty, thank you so much. Yes, it’s all very exciting, but the fellas just walked in and I’ve gotta go tell them the good news. You have a nice night too, love.”

  


He hung up the phone and looked at the newcomers, “You guys wanna join a band?”


	2. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They need to talk. Stu's just hoping he doesn't die of a stress-induced heart attack first.

“Let me get this straight, just so I haven’t missed anything,” Russel said later that night as Stuart continued to have a near panic attack on the other side of the couch, “You made an offer to rent out an abandoned music studio-slash-mansion that’s probably haunted and you brought home this Winniebago you won in a game of poker a while ago  _ and _ now you want to form a band with us because…”

 

“It’s how I’m gonna get famous! My name in the stars, hot groupies looking to get with me every night, all that jazz. It’ll be awesome, but I gotta have a band first. You’re a percussion expert, Stu’s a good singer and keyboardist, and I’m great with bass and a coupl’a other things. With my musical genius, Stu’s pretty boy looks, and your muscle, we could be the biggest band this world has ever seen! It’s not like any of us has anything else going for us, anyways, so there’s no reason not to.”

 

“There’s many reasons. For one, I ain’t gonna be here forever. I promised my mamas that I’d go home this summer. I’m not gonna join up with some cracker just because he wants me to.”

 

Stuart looked up and finally smiled, “Ah gotta go home for th’ summah too! Guess ah can’ be in your band, Murdoc. Sorry.”

 

“Oh, did I forget to mention that part? I already told your mums that you’d agreed to join, so they’re good to go. All three of ‘em agreed to let you stay, on the condition that you don’t forget them when we’re famous.”

 

Both of the blank-eyed boys stared at him, then at each other. Stuart was the first to break, finally falling into a full-blown attack. His flatmate groaned in frustration while his friend dropped to his side. 

 

“Okay Stu, you gotta listen to me. It’s time to just breathe in, nice and slow, and breathe out, that’s it. Keep breathing. It’ll all be fine, trust me. Just keep breathing, in and out.”

 

The anxious twenty-year-old began tapping his finger tips together as he breathed deeply and slowly. His eyes were shut tight, but they relaxed after a few tense minutes. 

 

“‘M good, ‘m good,” he whispered, pushing his friend away. Stuart looked over at the other, who was picking his teeth with his already filthy nails. 

 

“Okay, so we’re gonna be in a band. An’ wos this band called, anyways? Stu, Russ, an’ Muds?”

 

“First off, you can’t be Stu-Pot anymore if you’re gonna be in my band. You gotta have a cool name, like Faceache or Bluebird, something original. Second, we’ll come up with a name. You guys just gotta relax. We’ll think of something cool.”

 

“Fuck you, man. Stu-Pot don’t gotta change his name just to impress a bunch of groupie girls, he’s cool despite it.”

 

The arsehole glared at Russel, but he had already turned his attention back to Stuart, who cleared his throat. 

 

“Do y’ really fink m’ nickname’s lame?”

 

“It’s not that… actually, yeah, it’s kinda on the nose there, don’t you think?”

 

The blue-haired boy rubbed his arm, “Me dad came up with it when I was fourteen. It was just after ah tried pot for th’ first time. Dad said ah came into his place smellin’ like it an’ started callin’ me that. It juss kinda stuck… Maybe that bloke Jamie’s idea wasn’ too bad after all, compared to Stu-Pot, at least.”

 

“What, what did he call you?”

 

“Two-Dents. Ah fink it wos juss ‘cause he hadn’t caught m’ name yet, but it sounds pretty nice, doesn’ it? Oh, tha’ reminds me, same bloke drew me an’ Russ. Here, take a looksee, Muds,” the singer said as he handed over the scrap of paper. The bastard took a good long look at it and grinned. 

 

“This fella came up with your new name  _ and _ he drew you really well. You oughta get his number if we ever run into him again. Two-Dents is nice, but I think we oughta shorten it. How’s 2D sound to you gents?”

 

“Ah still dunno if ‘m gonna join.”

 

“Of course you are, if you wanna be a star and put that talent on a keyboard to good use.”

 

“Man, you all kinds of nutty,” Russel said in a huff. Murdoc sent a wink and a weird noise in his direction. 

 

“You know what they say, fake it ‘til you make it!”

 

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

 

“We’re gonna be stars, so we might as well act like 'em!”

 

Something occurred to the newly dubbed 2D just as Murdoc started celebrating a bit, “Who’s gonna be on guitar? We can’ have a band wiffout guitar.”

 

“Uhhhhh…” Murdoc trailed off, “Know any good ones?”

 

Russel absently hit the singer's shoulder, probably a bit rougher than he meant, “Hey Stu, where’s Paula nowadays?”

 

The bastard perked up a bit, but Stuart shook his head, “Got back togeva wiff her French boyfriend. Last ah heard, she moved to France to be wiff him.”

 

“Aw shit, do I gotta go kidnap someone to put this bloody band together?”

 

“What, no! What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

 

“Can’ we juss put an ad out?”

 

Murdoc grumbled under his breath, then sighed dramatically, “Fine, but not until we’re in the new building. It’ll just be easier than havin’ people comin’ into the flat all day.”

 

Both of the others agreed. Stuart talked to Russel for a bit longer. As it began getting dark, he waved his friend out and watched Murdoc go back to his room. The blue-haired man choose to simply take off his pants before climbing into bed; he’d do all the stuff he normally did at night in the morning before work. He stared out the window at the lights of the city and thought to himself as the day’s exhaustion set in. It definitely seemed like the start of one of life’s adventures to him. 

 

He just hoped the new nickname wouldn’t stick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get one really nice comment & my immediate reaction is "hey let's update two days before I planned on it". Anyways, the next few chapters are pretty short, sorry for that but also not really bc that's just my writing style. I'm gonna go freak out over some missing lip balm some more, later lovelies.


	3. The Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a fast road trip, but things still happened.

On Saturday, Murdoc insisted the three of them drive up to take a look at some old, abandoned place they could use for a studio. The Winniebago looked like shit on the outside, but it sure smelled like it on the inside. According to Murdoc, it was a mess the day he got knocked out and a full year of sitting abandoned did nothing to help. Stuart quickly learned that the seats just behind the driver’s were best. His flatmate insisted the seat next to him was even better, but Stu left that open in case Russel wanted it. Said drummer had fallen asleep (“Spent all last night writin’ notes with Del. Damn asshole woke me up every five minutes.”), so the prize front seat had been taken by said spirit instead. When he’d come out, Murdoc had nearly ran them off the road. 

 

“Wot the bloody ‘ell? Where the fuck did  _ you _ come from?”

 

The rapper looked back at Stu and grinned, “Hey, man, it’s been a while. Russ told me about what happened. Sorry about the eye, but you really look sick as hell now.”

 

“Good to see you too. Tha’s Murdoc, by th’ way.”

 

Del looked at their driver, who was pulling a gun out of somewhere Stu couldn’t see. The spirit closed his eyes before pushing it away, “Fool, put that shit away. I’m already dead, you can’t shoot a ghost. I liked you better when you were comatose.”

 

“2D, who the fuck is this? You better have a good explanation for all this shit.”

 

“Tha’s Del, Russel’s boyfriend. He only comes out when Russel sleeps, tha’s why Russ nevah brings ‘im ‘round.”

 

Murdoc made a weird noise and turned back to the road. Del gave his friend an odd look, “Why’d he call you 2D?”

 

“Some bloke came into th’ store the otha day an’ called me Two Dents ‘cause he didn’ know m’ name. Ah told Muds about it an’ he’s lookin’ t’ start a band, y’see, an’ apparently Stu-Pot is lame, so ‘m 2D now. If y’ ask me, iss not a very good name.”

 

The driver shushed him as the spirit crossed his arms, “It ain’t like it’s not accurate. Two Dents… Sounds like a guy I’d wanna beat up if I didn’t know you’re a fuckin’ string bean. I like 2D, though. It’s a good name for a singer in a band. Like, the whole pop culture thing is stuck in a dimension that’s less than ours. There’s only one way it can be taken and if ya take it another way, ya doin’ it wrong. It’s cool like that.”

 

The singer perked up a bit, “Yeah, ah guess when y’ put it tha’ way, iss really cool. Maybe ah can grow t’ like it, if ah fink of it tha’ way.”

 

Murdoc turned on the radio with a grumble. The ghost didn’t seem to notice, “So, what’re we doin’ right now?”

 

“Goin’ t’ look at a possible base o’ operations. Muds found it.”

 

“For the love of- shut up, SHUT UP!” Murdoc screamed behind him. The noise woke Russel up, who immeditely began swearing, “What the fuckin’ hell, Muds? I was takin’ a nap, for fuck’s sake. Seriously, why the  _ shit _ did you wake me up?”

 

“Fuckin’ ‘Dents can’ stay quiet! ‘M tryin’ t’ listen to the radio, fuckin’ dullard!” 

 

The singer drew into himself as his friend threw a glare in his direction, “Sorry, Russ, ah didn’ mean t’ wake ya. Sorry to you too, Muds. Ah wasn’ bein’ very considerate. Ah juss dun’ get t’ see Del a lot, so ah wanted t’ talk t’ ‘im for a bit.”

 

“He seemed like a bit of an arse to me. Maybe you oughta not talk to him too much. He  _ is  _ a ghost after all. Speakin’ to one of ‘em might make you go a bit crazy,” Murdoc said. He briefly turned around to give Stu a grin and a wink. It made something in the youngerf’s heart shrivel, but his mind was entirely confused. He hadn’t gotten much kindness from the bassist since he’d woken up. It almost felt like he remembered the days where Stu would tell him everything, good and bad. It made him think, maybe there was something redeemable about him after all.

 

Stu shook his head. He really  _ did _ get too attached too easily. Not for the first time, the singer reminded himself of why he kept Murdoc around in a quiet whisper, “‘E’d be lost wiffout you. Y’ gotta take care of ‘im.”

 

“What was that, Stu?” Russel asked him. He cringed away, curling up into a ball in his seat. 

 

“Noffin’. I’ll be quiet now.”

 

He didn’t quite catch the worried look thrown at him, but it wouldn’t have mattered to Stu anyways. As far as he was concerned, Stuart Pot was perfectly fine.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

They went about most of the rest of the trip without speaking to each other. Del didn’t come back out when Russel fell asleep again, which was good for Stu. He busied himself with a book on satanism he found near his seat. The kind that the book detailed was definitely different, but if Murdoc was into it, he’d like to know all he could. They drove through a quaint, beautiful town that reminded Stu of home. He set the book down as they pulled into a gas station. 

 

“We’re gonna refuel, then head up the hill. Hey Stu, mind askin’ some of the locals what they know about this place? It’s called Kong or somethin’ like that, on a hill not too far from here. I think the owners live in town, so these blokes oughta know  _ something _ about the place,” Murdoc said as he pulled up to the pump. Stuart made an affirmative noise, then stood up. The moment they were in park he was hopping down the stairs. It felt so nice to breathe fresh air again. As much as letting it air out over the week had helped, the Winniebago still smelled like shit. 

 

He only allowed himself a minute of deep breathing before he was on his way into the little station. Some chain restaurant seemed to be have taken over half the place, so one or two groups of men sat at tables inside. They all turned to look at Stu as he walked in. He didn’t particularily blame them; he  _ was _ a tall blunette with no eyes, after all. He was grateful he’d worn his old work jacket from his dad’s carnival that day, though, since it made him look like a regular farmer’s kid if they didn’t look too closely. 

 

Thankfully, the gentlemen only gave him a once over before turning back to their lunches. Stu roamed the aisles for a few moments, picking up some Jostas and a few bags of chips along the way. Nobody said anything when he went to check out, but one of the men did speak up as he paid for his snacks.

 

“Lad, what’s wrong with your eyes?”

 

The singer looked up at them to find everyone in the place besides the workers was staring at him. He cleared his throat, “Issa hyphema. Ah hit my ‘ead too hard an’ my eyes filled up wif blood. Doctors say ‘m lucky ah can still see.”

 

“You bloody are,” a different man said, “My mum got a hyphema from an accident. She’s blind as a bat now.”

 

“‘M sorry to hear about tha’, sir,” Stu replied. He pocketed his change and picked up his bag. Just before he left, he remembered Murdoc’s request. 

 

“Any of you blokes know of a place called Kong? Iss supposed t’ be on a hill around here.”

 

All eyes, this time including the worker’s, fell back on him. Stu wondered if he would be able to slice through the tension in the air if he pulled out his pocket knife. Finally, one of the men shook his head, “You oughta stay away from that place, lad. People say it’s cursed. The dead walk the grounds on one side and the other smells worse than a dead skunk in a pile of horse shit. I don’t understand young people and their obsession with getting their arses killed.”

 

“It’s not me who’s wondering, sir. My mate outside, ‘e’s taken us on a trip up there. Ah fink ‘e wants t’ set up camp there.”

 

“Either your mate is mad or he’s lookin’ for trouble. Either way, I’d listen to Jeffery. He’s right about that place. Me sister an’ her old boyfriend went up there when we were young an’ they haven’t been the same since.”

 

“Wos your name, lad?” the first of the group to speak to him said. Stu shuffled a bit, “Stuart Pot, Stu for short. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”

 

“Listen to these fellas, Stu. It’s not safe up there.”

 

The locals went back to ignoring him. The singer gathered himself and walked out of the store. If he’d had a bad feeling about this trip before, it was nothing like what he felt in that moment. Murdoc stood outside the Winniebago, smoking a cigarette as he pumped gas. Stu wondered when he’d come inside, but that train of thought was lost as the bag was snatched out of his hand. 

 

“About time, mate. What’d you learn about Kong?”

 

Stu gave a half hearted shrug, “They juss said we oughta stay away. There’s a rumor th’ place is haunted. Ah fink they said sumfin about zombies an’ it smellin’ bad, which sounds pretty cool t’ me. Ah dun like how they were talkin’ about it though. Doncha y’ fink we oughta head back? Ah mean, iss not like we’ll be movin’ in anytime soon anyways. Russ an’ I still got our jobs an’ comutin’ ‘ll be too ‘ard.”

 

“I’m sure it ain’t that bad, ‘Dents. You’ll see. We’ll get up there and everythin’ will be just fine.”

 

The blue-haired boy gave him a weak smile and pulled out his own pack of cigarettes. Murdoc watched him struggle with his lighter for a few seconds before cursing under his breath, “For fuck’s sake, put the damn thing in your mouth an’ I’ll light it for ya.”

 

Stu did just that. When Muds got close, he breathed in the scent of tobacco and old whiskey. It was not nearly as bad he thought. On the contrary, it was almost exactly what someone Stu once knew smelled like after a good night out. He turned away just as soon as he was lit to shake off those memories. It wouldn’t do him any good to think of  _ that  _ person, not now. 

 

“Y’know, it ain’t too safe to smoke near a gas pump. Why don’t you head inside, 2D? Take this shit with you,” Murdoc said gruffly as he handed the bag back. Stu took a long drag as he walked into the vehicle. The first thing he did was pop open a window across from Russel. He sat down next to it, placing the bag at his feet. A can found its way into his hand and was pressed against his friend’s forehead. The drummer groaned as he woke up. 

 

“Mmm, we there yet?”

 

Stu set the drink down on the table and sat back down, “Muds stopped t’ fuel up before we got there. Ah went askin’ around an’ this place seems pretty sketchy. D’ya mind if ah smoke, or should ah take this outside?”

 

Russel sat all the way up, popping open the drink with one hand. He took a sip of it as he looked up, “Naw, I don’t mind. Thanks for this thing, by the way. I really appreciate it, Stu-Pot.”

 

“Muds gave me th’ money, so you oughta thank him ‘stead o’ me.”

  
They looked each other for a few minutes before Russel let out a low chuckle, “Like that asshole would  _ ever _ do anything nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was two chapters, but nothing really happened in either, so I decided to combine them into one. That being said, I don't think I'm gonna have a set-in-stone updating schedule for this fic. I'll try to post every Sunday and Thursday, but I'll mostly just post chapters as I get them done I think. We'll see what happens.


	4. The Studio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of one journey is the beginning of another.

Stu was feeling good. He had a boost of energy in his system and a good conversation partner to joke around with. Even Murdoc seemed to be feeling better if his own joking around was anything to go off of. Then he saw the metal fence guarding a cemetery and a shaking couple standing outside it. For some reason, his good mood became a pit in his gut. 

 

“Hey, Muds? Are you sure this is th’ place?”

 

Murdoc put the vehicle in park and turned around to show off his grin, “Of course I’m sure. You lot stay here an’ I’ll go talk to the owners.”

 

His cuban heels clicked with every step off the Winnie. Russel settled back down into his seat. Stu curled back up on his seat. An idea made itself known in his mind as his eyes went up to the window. He lit himself a cigarette and got close to the open window. If he concentrated, he could just barely hear the conversation outside. 

 

“‘Ello, mates. You lot the owners of this place?”

 

“Yes, yes sir, we are. Are you, um, uh, are you Murdoc?” the one on the left said. Stu heard them shuffling as they spoke. He could imagine his friend looking down on them, “Yeah, the one and only. Can we get the keys so we can take a looksee? Make sure it’s what we’re wantin’ an’ all that.”

 

“Just take the damn place!” the second person screamed. Stuart was startled back enough to watch the second throw the keys at the bassist. Both people ran to their car parked across the street and drove off as quickly as they could. Stu opened the window until he could stick his head out of it. 

 

“Everythin’ alrigh’, Muds?” he hollered, letting his cigarette hang from his hand. His flatmate turned around and shrugged, “I guess so. I think they just gave us some free real estate.”

 

“Well, ah guess tha’s good.”

 

“We better take a look around, man. This place is gettin’ fishier by the second,” Russel called out from his spot. The others agreed. Stu finished his cigarette as Murdoc picked up the key ring. He opened the gate before getting into the vehicle. The singer didn’t realize what character was on it until he tossed it in Stu’s lap. 

 

“It’s Penfold!” he enthusiastically cried out. Both of his friends gave him odd looks. Without missing a beat, the singer explained, “‘e’s from a show ah used t’ watch called Danger Mouse. Th’ main character an’ him were spies an’ fought an evil toad called Baron Silas Greenback. God, ah forgot all about it!”

 

“Sounds stupid to me,” Murdoc said as he started the Winnie up again. Russel nodded his agreement, then moved up to sit next to the bassist. Neither of them noticed how Stu’s face fell. They made the trip up the hill in silence. The singer stared out the window at the graveyard to their right. The smell was horrible, but it reminded Stu of what the locals had told him. He looked carefully for zombies, but none seemed to want to appear. He barely noticed the other two talking until they stopped at the top of the hill and a hand idly hit his shoulder. 

 

“C’mon, ‘Dents, let’s go,” Murdoc ordered as Russel stepped off the bus. The black eyed boy followed them without a word. His American friend was pinching his nose when he stepped out. 

 

“God, it fuckin’  _ reeks _ out here. It’s like a damn skunk died and was buried in a pile of horse shit.”

 

Stu let out a little giggle despite himself, “Tha’s wot th’ locals said it smelled like. They also said th’ dead roam half th’ grounds, ah guess they meant th’ cemetery, but ah didn’ see any zombies. Not that tha’ woulda been a problem. Ah’ve seen so many zombie movies ah know  _ exactly _ wot t’ do in case of an attack!”

 

His friends both gave him odd looks, though one was closer to annoyance than the other. Mrdoc turned to the doors and unlocked them. As soon as they were open, the three gasped at what they saw. Just the first room was the nicest place Stu had ever stepped into. He marveled at the giant telly on the far wall and the leather furniture around the place. 

 

“What the fuck?” he heard one of his friends whispered, though he wasn’t sure which one. Murdoc took a few steps in to get a better look around. The singer watched him look around until they both spotted a directory. He took one look at it and grinned like a mad man, “Gents, this is the place! Welcome to our new HQ!”

 

“Why this place? It’s got a dump on one side, a cemetary on the other, the owners ran away from it screaming, and the place looks entirely too nice to have been sitting here for so long. You must be the whitest person alive to think  _ this _ is the right place to set up camp,” Russel said in reply. Murdoc turned to Stu with a bit of a pleading look. It was something the singer had  _ never _ seen before. 

 

“C’mon, 2D, back me up on this! Doncha wanna see some zombies an’ live in this _ palace _ ? It’s got everything you’d ever want! There’s so many floors, too, why, if we didn’t want to, we’d never see each other! C’mon, bluebird, what d’you say? Will you start the biggest band in all history with me?”

 

The bassist offered out his hand. Stu stared at it with his blank eyes, taking in all the callouses and jagged nails. So far, he’d chosen to keep himself in a normal life, something he could spend being happy, having a family and children if he wanted. He could choose to stay on that path, he knew it. Right now, he could shake his head and go back to how it had been. Go back to the record shop and calling his mum every Tuesday like he’d always done. 

 

Stu told himself that kind of life would’ve been boring anyways. He put on a smile only half faked and gave over his hand in Murdoc’s. 

 

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

 

The smirk on the other’s face was the most soothing thing 2D could’ve seen in that moment, “Atta boy, ‘Dents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this, I realized I'd made Stu SUPER ooc for these fics, so this is the beginning of my attempt to bring him back into the asshole nineteen-year-old he was during Phase 1. Join me for the rest of this fic as I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing because I've never written Stu as an asshole before. Joy!


	5. And Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stu has a couple conversations because author ran out of ideas for this chapter.

Russel and Stu stayed the rest of the weekend, then went home Monday. In what they assumed to be a garage, they found what Murdoc referred to as a “geep”, so the drummer used that to drive them home. Their new leader allowed them to go on the condition that they come back the following weekend. He also made Stu promise to call sometime that week, just to talk. (“It’ll get right lonely ‘round here without you.”) The singer pretended that didn’t change what he thought of Murdoc. 

 

The two friends didn’t talk much on the way back. That is, until they got stuck in standstill traffic not far from Stu’s flat. 

 

“So, are we gonna talk about what you did back there at Kong or are you gonna just keep making big choices like that without talking to anyone about it first?” Russel finally said. Stu sighed, “It wos spur of th’ moment, Russ. Ah thought it wos wot’s best for everyone.”

 

“How is it great for me your family or your friends or  _ you _ if you’re stuck with that asshole every weekend? God, man, you’ve been almost obsessed with him for over a year now. He lost you your job, your girl, fuck man, you can trace all the bad things from this past year back to him. And when he tells you to come follow some pipe dream with him, you just do it without hesitation? Let him do whatever the fuck he wants with you? What the hell, Stu? I thought you were smarter than this.”

 

Stu gave his friend the hardest glare he’d ever given anyone. If his eyes weren’t blank, he’d actually have made someone uneasy. 

 

“You’re right. Ah did this for  _ me _ . Ah wos savin’ m’self from ‘avin’ t’ work wiff ‘im.”

 

“What the fuck kinda logic is that?”

 

“Somewhere, in some otha universe, ‘ere’s a me tha’ didn’ take ‘is hand. If that universe wos this one, that me prolly said yes. Ah jus’ kept thinkin’ of that me. He’s got a chance now. He could live a normal life, ‘ave kids an’ all that good stuff. Ah juss couldn’ stop thinkin’ ‘bout how he’d miss out on all that if ah’d have said no,” Stuart explained. The look of confusion Russ gave him stayed unchanged.

 

“Stu, you’re a cool guy, but I barely know what you’re talking about.”

 

The singer let out a sigh and leaned back in his seat, “Juss trust me, okay? Ah fink can handle anyfin this band can throw at me. Anyways, you nevah said if you wos gonna join or not.”

 

The traffic slowly started moving again. Russel finally turned back to the road, “I don’t think I’m gonna. It’s just... not where I think life’s taking me.”

 

“Ah fink you should stay wif us. It’d be fun t’ make music wif you. But, ah can’ stop you if you go somewhere else. Ah juss hope you don’t until ah get used t’ doing this wif Murdoc.”

 

Russel gave him a very worried look as they pulled up next to the building. Stu leaned over to hug his friend, “It’ll be alrigh’, mate. It’s always alright in the end.”

 

“How do you  _ know _ that, Stu?”

 

“If it’s not alrigh’, it’s not th’ end.”

 

They pulled back to look at each other. Stu wiped away the tear that blocked the elder’s vision. It was something he remembered doing a hundred times with people he’d been in love with. Right now though, he felt something entirely different. 

 

It was nice. 

 

Stu pulled away fully, “Ah gotta go get ready for work tomorrow. Ah’ll see you there, righ’?”

 

“Yeah man, of course,” Russel replied as he sat back up in his seat, “See you then, Stu. Try not to break your neck ‘fore then, ‘kay?”

 

The blue-haired man rolled his eyes and climbed out. He waved over his shoulder one more time, “Bye, Russel!”

 

“Bye, Stu. Love ya.”

 

With that, Russel was gone. Stu ascended with the future on his mind. He hadn’t questioned his choice once and, somehow, he still wasn’t. Yet, somehow, he couldn’t rationalize it. Russel was right; Stu should’ve cared more about this him than any other him. It was crazy for him to think otherwise. He shook away a follow-up to that thought and let himself into his apartment. 

 

“‘M home!” he called out to nobody. It took him a second to realize that he was alone now. Nobody would be sitting on the couch or looking through his things but him. For a long moment, he stood just inside the hallway. The door idley swung next to him, begging to be shut. Finally, he sighed and answered its prayers. 

 

“Oughta call Muds,” he muttered to himself as he put his things away. Instead he carefully pulled out an old notecard from its hiding spot in the flour bag. Stu read over the card as he tied his apron around his waist. It was harder than it’d been the last time he’d used the recipe. 

 

“Damn hyphema.”

 

The singer moved around his kitchen with ease. He pulled his own green butter out of the fridge with a kind of familiar joy he hadn’t felt in over a year blooming in his chest. An hour slipped away as he pulled together a simple cookie dough, his own little secret folded away inside. The phone rang in the hall just as he popped the first dozen into the oven. Stu closed the door hastily and went straight to it. 

 

“‘Allo?”

 

“2D, what the fuck? You was supposed t’ call me when you got home!”

 

Stu pulled the phone away from his ear, but it was too late. The shouting blossomed into a flower of pain that spread over his head. He scrunched up his face and brought the receiver back, “Aw, fuck Muds, dun shout like tha’! M’ whole face aches now.”

 

“Your face ‘urts? My whole bloomin’ ‘ead hurts! Where’d you put my pills?!” the bassist hollored anyways. Stu let out a big sigh and rubbed his forehead, “Ah left th’ pill reminder me mum gave me wiff doses for every day this week. Ah’ll refill it next time ‘m over, but for now tha’s all you got. It should be in th’ kitchen. Anyfin else?”

 

“Yeah, did you take my hard rock shirt? The one with the dick on it?”

 

The singer looked down at the cartoon penis peeking out from the apron covering his chest, “No. Bye, Murdoc.”

 

Hanging up felt so freeing. Stu thought for an extra moment, then put the phone off the hook. He’d hear all Murdoc’s remarks later. For now, he could smell the product of his efforts in the kitchen. The singer followed his nose away from the one thing that connected him to what might be the biggest mistake he’s made in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I want a rock shirt with a penis on it. Hope y'all liked this chapter, I just needed something to fill the space between them getting Kong and the next week, which does have something interesting happen! Keep an eye out for that chapter on Sunday, it won't be late like this one was. I promise ;)


	6. The Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's still Stu, but someone craving more lurks beneath the surface.

The next week of Stu’s life was probably one of the best he’d had in a long time. It occurred to him that he’d never  _ not _ had someone else to schedule his day around before. So, he did whatever he wanted. His first night alone was spent mostly figuring out what other nineteen-year-olds did for fun, just so he’d have as cool of a week as he could. He brought random girls home from a club on Tuesday. On Wednesday, he explored the streets around his home more than he ever had before. He even found a goth store that made him think of Murdoc. Thursday night, he invited Russel over and ended up talking with him for hours about whatever came to mind. They even fell asleep together on the couch, side by side. 

 

Friday morning, he woke up happier than he’d ever been. Stu couldn’t recall a day where he’d woken up without a headache or without someone calling his name. His line of sight went to the clock on the wall. 

 

“Fuck, i’s  _ six _ ? Wot th’ fuck?” he mumbled to himself. Russel shifted a bit next to him. The younger scooched away until he could get up without disturbing his friend, then started stretching. His back crackled like popcorn, but that was what he got he supposed. Stu headed to the bathroom to start his routine. When he was all done with his usual business, he closed the mirror cabinet just to stare at himself. 

 

His eyes were white. 

 

“Wot th’ ‘ell?!” he shouted without controlling his volume. Somewhere else he could hear Russel waking up and staggering over to him, but all he could focus on was his eyes. Not a bit of black was anywhere to be seen in them. His friend came to the door and groaned, “Man, I told you. You just gotta get used to ‘em. It’s whatever.”

 

Stu turned to face him, “Ah fink ah got a bigger problem than gettin’ used to me eyes.”

 

“Fuck, man, what the hell?!” Russel said as he grabbed the taller’s chin. He tilted Stu’s head around to look at the eyes from every angle. He eventually let go and went back into the hallway, “What’s your doctor’s number?”

 

“It’s in m’ address book. Why d’ya need t’ know?”

 

The singer heard his phone get taken off the hook and a jumble of words he couldn’t understand. He turned back to the mirror to watch his eyes. It almost seemed like there was nothing left in them. Russel came back over after a few minutes, shaking his head, “This is weird as shit, Stu, but the doctor says the blood’s drained away. It’s weird, though, he said this shoulda happened sooner, unless you’ve been gettin’ head trauma regularly. You’re fine, though, right?”

 

Stu shook his head as he finally tore his eyes away from his reflection, “Ah mean, ah sometimes bang me ‘ead on cabinet doors or run into walls, but tha’s it. Maybe they juss took a bit longer ‘cause ‘m special. Me mum always said ah wos a special case, ‘specially after my ‘air turned blue. Maybe this is juss a side effect of whatevah else is wrong wiff me, ah dunno.”

 

“Stu, nothin’s wrong with you,” Russel replied with a sigh. Stu kept walking on to the kitchen, “‘M makin’ pancakes, you want any?”

 

His friend finally started following him down the hall, “No, I oughta get home. You sure you’ll be able to handle the store by yourself today?”

 

“Yeah, of course! Iss not like iss ‘ard, ah juss gotta stand there an’ smile. An’ restock th’ shelves every so often. An’ make sure nobody robs th’ place. Simple!”

 

“What about this weekend? You gonna be able to handle riding the bus all that way?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine Russ. Ah can handle Muds too or ‘e wouldn’ be alive righ’ now!”

 

Stu gave his friend a big smile, showing off the gap in his teeth. Russel shook his head with a light chuckle, “Just don’t get yourself killed, ‘kay?”

 

He left shortly after that. The singer went about his morning, quietly humming to himself as he did. If a pancake was still stuck to his ceiling when he left home, that was for his future self to deal with. The shop was the least busy he’d ever seen it. Besides a regular or two, it was empty all day. Stu ended up putting on records he liked just to dance to. He imagined other employees of other shops putting on records just to hear his voice, which made a warm feeling spread through his chest. 

 

He thought back to days like this when he’d had Murdoc for company. He wondered what Murdoc would say if he hadn’t been comatose. 

 

_ Aw, ‘Dents, this music is rubbish! _ He heard a nails-on-chalkboard voice say from his imagination,  _ I’m picking out the next one. You know if this store has any classics? _

 

Stu rolled his eyes along with his imaginary self, “Ah  _ work _ ‘ere, Muds. Everyfin released after 1989 is near th’ door. Older stuff is closer to th’ back.”

 

He moved towards the music he was sure Murdoc would like better. As he began sorting through the records, he could almost feel the other standing close to him, though the store was almost lifeless. Stu pulled out one he’d seen in the Winnie, “‘Ow about this one?”

 

_ That’s perfect! Put it on already, 2D, an’ I’ll show you how you should be doing it _ . 

 

The singer laughed to himself as he moved back to the turntable. He switched out the records rather quickly, his thoughts still on the imaginary friend telling some story about a girl and her boyfriend. Stu dropped the needle and the first notes rang out. The story 2D had never heard a word of stopped in its tracks. The bass line on the song made the singer’s heart beat at a new rhythm before the vocals started. He became hooked on it immediately, singing along to words he didn’t know. Somewhere behind him, Murdoc was singing too. 

 

Stu felt a spark of familiarity begin breathing in his chest. He closed his eyes and began dancing, just for himself. In that moment, he was someone entirely different. The air itself felt heavier with a life Stu didn’t know, but 2D knew it better than anyone. 2D was a rockstar and he was playing for a crowd of thousands. They cheered his name, begged for him to love them as they loved him, hung on his every word. He could send them a wink and they’d be ecstatic. They all loved him. They all loved his fame.

 

They fell away with the rest of the illusion when Stu tripped over his own feet. He hit the ground head first with a grunt. When he sat up, he was a record shop employee listening to an old record he’d never have picked out on his own. He saw his faint reflection in the glass at the front of the store, showing his newly darkened eyes. 

 

Stu stood up and brushed off the rest of his fantasies. 

 

“You aren’t 2D,” he whispered to himself as he got back to his duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've got an idea of what I'm doing now, six chapters in. Idk, I'm still mostly winging it & hoping y'all like it. Next chapter's gonna bring back everyone's favorite pickle shit, and not just as a figment of the bluebird's imagination! Let's hope Stu doesn't have an allergic reaction ;)


	7. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stu's visit to Murdoc may be a bit less tense than he thought.

He rode the bus up that afternoon. Murdoc was waiting for him at the station when he got off, “There you are, ya lug. C’mere, give Uncle Muds some love.”

 

The bassist pulled him into a one-arm hug. Stu hugged back awkwardly, working hard to not drop his clothes bag. He pulled back as soon as he could. Murdoc rolled his eyes and picked up Stu’s other bag, “What’s in this, mate?”

 

“M’ instrument. This is a  _ band _ , righ’?” the singer said as he adjusted his grip on the first bag, “We gotta make music t’ have a band. Ah can play keyboard, plus ah ain’ a bad si-”

 

“We can talk about this more when we’re up there. C’mon, I came all this way so I could walk you up there,” Murdoc interrupted. He put an arm around Stu’s shoulders, steering him in the right direction. As they walked up the hill, the bassist prodded out stories from that week. It was almost enough to distract the singer from the shuffling he heard on the graveyard side of the house. He ignored that anyways. 

 

As soon as they entered Kong, Stu saw a strange bass lying on the couch.

 

“Uh, Muds? Wot’s that?”

 

Murdoc suddenly grinned wide, “That right there is El Diablo, my bass. Ain’t she a beauty? Go on, pick ‘er up, take a look. Just be careful, okay? She’s fragile.”

 

The singer dropped his bag next to the door and walked over to the instrument. He admired the colors on it as his hand slowly reached out for it. The second it made contact, he pulled away with a yelp. His fingers were just barely singed, thankfully not enough to bring up blisters. Behind him, he heard his friend burst into laughter. There was a heavy thud that made him wince and heavier footsteps coming towards him. 

 

“Hope you liked your touch, ‘Dents.”

 

“Wot th’ fuck, Muds?!”

 

Murdoc chucked again, putting a hand on his back, “El Diablo’s from Hell. Satan himself gave it to me when I sold my soul to him. It’s supposed to help me form th’ greatest band in th’ world, and so far it has.”

 

“What?”

 

“You remember the day you ran me over, righ’?” 

 

Stu shuddered at the thought, “Vaguely.”

 

“That day, I was gettin’ funds t’ buy Diablo here some new strings. Next thing I knew, I’m standing on a street corner, face covered in blood, starin’ at a tall, blue haired  _ god _ . Mate, this bass brought us together. Without her, you’d never have  _ met _ me an’ I’d never had thought you had a nice voice.”

 

“How’d you know ah can sing? Ah dun fink I’ve ever told you tha’.”

 

Murdoc chuckled again, “You sing in the shower. Tell me, can you carry a tune that well when you ain’ in water? It’s fine if you can’t, I’m an experienced singer m’self.”

 

“No, ah can do it. Ah sing pretty good, actually. At least, that’s what my mum an’ dad say. They-”

 

“I’m gonna be frank with you, 2D,” Murdoc interrupted, “I don’t give a shit. Just, show me what you can do.”

 

The elder sat down in the nearest chair as he lit up a cigarette. Stu shuffled awkwardly in his place as he felt mismatched eyes land on him. The singer let out the first string of notes he thought of. He didn’t bother to pair them with words. Noise spilled from his lips, poisoning the air with music. Stu felt his eyes close as it pulled him away from that place, back to the basement his dad taught him to play in. 

 

“Holy shit,” the singer heard Murdoc whisper from his seat. Stu brought himself back by shutting his jaws, then looked over at the other. The cigarette smoked idly in his hand, wasting away. Before he could stop himself, the singer plucked it out of the bassist’s fingers and put it to his own lips. His next words carried the smoke out of his lungs with them, “So, what’d you think?”

 

Murdoc snapped back into himself, giving Stu a grin, “You’re fucking great! Even better than what I heard! Can you play those keys like that?”

 

They worked together over the next few minutes to set Stu’s instrument up. As he began to play, Murdoc plugged in his bass. 

 

“What’re you doin’, Muds?”

 

“Keep going, trust me. I got an idea.”

 

Stu played on with a shake of his head. He faltered slightly when he heard deep notes chime in with his own.

 

“For satan’s sake, ‘Dents, don’t stop! I got a feelin’ we’re onto something here.”

 

Stu felt it too. Together, they found a string of notes. The singer could just barely hear where the guitar and drums would fit in. Both of the musicians let off after a while. Murdoc grabbed the nearest notebook, flipping it open and scribbling shit down. Stu slowly lifted his hands away from the keys. They tingled with the electricity of the moment before. Or maybe that was just him shaking from his brain damage.

 

“Sure wish we had Russel ‘ere,” he said as Murdoc snatched the cigarette back. 

 

“Me too, mate,” the bassist muttered before breathing in the cancer. Stu watched him carefully as he thought. He felt… different. It was like something had shifted entirely between them. His dad had once told him the right music could make anyone attach to anything; that’s why he played certain songs over and over at the carnival. Stu hadn’t thought about that in years, but now he pondered on it. Murdoc finished writing and looked up again. His jumping back would’ve been humorous if Stu wasn’t so lost in thought.

 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Stu, didn’t your mum ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

 

Stu narrowed his eyes and smirked, “Didn’t your mum ever tell you not to smoke inside?”

 

Murdoc raised an eyebrow as he smirked back, “Well, the goodie-goodie  _ can _ be snarky. You better watch it, faceache, or you might get in trouble.”

 

“Ah thought  _ you _ wos trouble.”

 

The bassist chuckled and fell over the back of the couch, “That I am, ‘D. Does that bother you?”

 

2D was far less surprised than he should've been to find himself walking around the couch to plop down next to his bandmate, “Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy D-Day! Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter of Murdoc and 2D hanging out casually. Their dynamic is just so much fun to write, I couldn't help myself from writing this. I think I might be getting back into the swing of this thing, but I'm still not sure what exactly is next for these two boys and their friendo.   
> Oh well, I'll figure it out.


	8. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People say you become like the people you're around most often. That's not always a good thing.

2D spent the weekend laughing, making music, and just talking to Murdoc. He found out so much about his mysterious bandmate. When he went back Sunday afternoon, Murdoc gave him a hug and the white notebook he’d written in all weekend. 

 

“In case you think of any songs while you’re away,” he’d explained before walking away. 2D had flipped through it during his journey, finding pages of songs. He’d even altered a few when the road was smoother. Russel met him at work Monday morning and did a double take.

 

“You’re looking cheerful today, Stu. Something happen this weekend?”

 

The singer gave his friend a half-grin as he unlocked the front doors, “Not really, mate. Ah juss hung out wiff Muds, that’s all. He’s really a great guy once ya get to know ‘im, y’know?”

 

Russel did another double take on that statement, “Really? You’ve been complaining about how much of an asshole he is since he woke up. You sure nothing big happened while you were gone?”

 

2D shook his head as he went to put is stuff up. His coworker didn’t try engaging him again once he got out, which was perfectly fine to 2D. The brit went about his daily business, talking to customers and changing out the record every few songs. Russel bid him goodbye at lunch, leaving an empty store for the other. The store wasn’t fully cleared out until an hour before 2D’s shift ended. He immediately took the chance to grab Murdoc’s white book and sit down to write. The notes flowed out of his mind and splattered onto the paper. He filled out half a page before he went home with a skip in his step. 

 

2D called up his bandmate as soon as he got home. The phone rang once, twice, three times before being picked up. As soon as he heard it picked up, the singer started talking. 

 

“Hey, Muds, how’s your day?”

 

The other groaned before his raspy voice croaked out, “Fuckin’ amazing, ‘D. What about you, tell me everything. I wanna hear every detail!”

 

Almost every word was either slurred or exaggerated. 2D was taken back for a second; that didn’t sound like anything he’d heard from a drunk person before in his life. It sounded more like something he’d heard from a very unsavory friend. It sounded like…

 

“Murdoc, why do you sound like that?”

 

He had to confirm what his ears told him, even if he knew there was no chance it was tr-

 

“Drugs.”

 

Of fucking course. The light feeling Stu had held in his chest all day finally floated away. He crashed back to earth without moving an inch as he repeated the word, “Drugs. Is it a drug I gave you or…”

 

“What, you wanna narc on me?”

 

Stu rubbed at his temples and suppressed a groan, “No, Muds, I’m a stoner too. Ah juss… juss tell me what you’re on.”

 

Instead of an answer, Murdoc gave off a long groan, “So we coulda spent a weekend high as fucking shit and you didn’t tell me? What a fucking waste.”

 

“We can do tha’ next time, Muds. Also, answer m’ fuckin’ question.”

 

This time, Murdoc sighed, “Cocaine.”

 

The singer was silent for a long while.

 

“2D? Are you still there?”

 

“When th’ fuck did you get cocaine?”

 

“When the fuck did  _ you _ get so straightedge? Let me live my own fuckin’ life. I gotta go, there’s a fella over an’ if you ruin my chances with him, I’ll bite your fucking dick.”

 

The call ended. Stu hung up the phone and crumbled into a ball on the floor. He really shouldn’t have expected more from the bassist, but somehow he did. Somehow he’d convinced himself that Murdoc wasn’t that bad, wasn’t the kind of guy who would do cocaine for shits and giggles. He’d believed so much about Murdoc for too long…

 

“Ah need a drink,” Stuart whispered to himself. He wondered how much beer he had in his fridge for a second before making a snap decision. 

 

Payday was last Friday. He could afford to go out tonight, even if he really would rather stay in. If he really wanted, he could bring someone home too. No one was there to stop him. 

 

No one was there to stop him from downing as many shots as he could get. No one stopped him from getting cute guys to buy him more drinks after he reached his limit. No one stopped him from grinding on a girl he thought was a bitch. No one stopped him from dragging the hottest guy he could get into the alley to make out.

 

No one was there when he got into a fight with the boyfriend of the bitch from earlier. He had to stumble home alone, blood dripping into the palm of his hand. 2D knew he left handprints on his front door, but he was too drunk for that right now. It was a problem for Stuart to deal with tomorrow. 

 

“Ah,  _ fuck _ ,” he hissed as his coffee table jumped in front of his foot. 2D left another handprint on it as he caught himself before he fell. His vision was blurrier than usual; he knew without looking that his eyes were black again. Still, 2D could see drops of his blood leak out of his mouth like he was a leaky faucet. He heard nothing but his own heart beating in his chest. He could already see himself cleaning away this shame as he waited for painkillers to take away the throbbing pain in his forehead. 

 

2D pushed himself up again and tripped over his feet all the way to the bedroom. The blanket was on the other side of the room and his sheets had been haphazardly torn away from it, but all that mattered was the pillow sitting in the middle of the mess. The singer picked it up as he crawled onto his mattress. It was held tightly against him as he started drifting. 

 

Tomorrow, he’d wake up nearly crying. He’d barely make it to the bathroom before he’d throw up all the mistakes of that night. He’d be surprised to find the evidence of his fight when he looked into the mirror before popping two doses of his painkillers. The clock would tell him it was far too early to be awake as he crawled back into bed. Even later than that, he’d be woken by the screaming of his poor neighbor when she was startled from the handprint on his door. He’d clean up as much as he could before going to work. He’d lie about what he’d done to Russel, and later on yell at Murdoc about all of it because the bassist would say something too loudly. 

 

But he didn't know about any of that yet. For that moment, 2D closed his eyes as soon as he promised himself he’d do it all again another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in denial of what's going on with the Free Murdoc shit right now, so this one's for all those who are in the same boat. I bet you can pinpoint where I took a break, but honestly??? Couldn't care less, I've got work for uni. Hope y'all enjoyed!


	9. The Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2D writes a song and finds out more about everyone's favorite bastard bassist. 
> 
> TW: Physical Abuse

They hit five months since Murdoc had woken up before 2D noticed the change in himself. He’d taken to going out more often and learned how to bring home all kinds of people by using the band, which didn’t even have a name yet. Russel was scheduling their shifts so they spent less time together than they ever had. As a result, 2D felt lonelier than he ever had. For the first time he could remember, he didn’t really have anyone. His mum still called on Thursday morning and Murdoc would invite him out to the studio every weekend, but it didn’t feel real anymore. Mostly his mum would ask if he was out of meds or needed any cash to get through the week. Their conversations never lasted much longer than five or six minutes. 

 

Murdoc was a different beast. He always greeted 2D upon the singer’s arrival, but he disappeared somewhere within the long, empty hallways shortly after. Every weekend felt like pure isolation in a golden prison. 2D didn’t even know what had caused the change in the bassist. It came out of nowhere, and the son of a bitch himself refused to speak a word to him.

 

Until one Sunday morning in May. Stu’d woken up in what appeared to be a sitting room, one wall covered by a window. Honestly, it was a pretty cool design choice if you asked him. He was able to stare out into the rain waiting for him outside. Fuck, that would be such a pain to walk through to get to the bus station later. The singer ignored it for now as he stretched his arms above him. The crackling in his back is probably way he didn’t hear the door open. When he turned around, he was surprised to see a greenish, slightly hairy chest. His eyes snapped up to meet the startled expression of his bassist. 

 

“Muds. Uh, mornin’. You sleep okay?” Stu said as he stood up. 

 

Dark brown eyes stared at him dumbfounded, then became almost angry. 

 

“What the fuck you doin’ in  _ my _ inspiration room, dullard?”

 

Oh. Well that explained the overflowing wastebasket of paper next to the door and why El Diablo propped up in one corner. The singer cringed away slightly for reasons beyond him, “Ah dunno, ah juss woke up ‘ere. ‘Ow do ah get outta ‘ere anyways, ah need to go back today. Iss Sunday, righ’?”

 

He walked around the couch towards the door, hoping beyond hope that Murdoc would get the hint. The bassist simply leaned against the frame, crossed his arms, and glared at his younger counterpart. Stu felt like if he’d had a knife, he could’ve cut the tension in the room. Apparently Murdoc felt the same way, because he pulled out a straight razor from his baggy jeans. Breathing momentarily forgotten, Stu watched his friend begin cleaning out cropped nails with the back of the blade. Murdoc lazily picked at it without saying a word or looking up at the bluebird in front of him. Minutes felt like hours as they dragged by at an agonizing pace. Just as Stu was about to worry himself into a panic attack, finally the bassist spoke. 

 

“There’s a flight of stairs three doors down on the right. Go down ‘til you reach the second door, then through there. Take a left and you’ll be at the front room, where I think you left your bag of shit,” he quickly said. Then, momentarily pausing his manicure, the bassist looked directly at his singer’s milky-white eyes, “But you won’t go yet, right ‘D?”

 

Stu took a moment to remember how to breathe, then stepped over the bassist’s legs. Fast as a whistle, he was knocked to the ground and a hand was holding his chin. The singer had no idea where the razor went, but he was more focused on the knee digging painfully in between his shoulder blades. A rotten voice hissed in his ear, “You know what I just realized, ‘D? I ain’t heard that pretty little voice of yours in a while. So, you know what I would just  _ love _ for you to do for me?”

 

The bluebird nodded the best he could. He almost cried out in pain when the knee dug even further into his back. 

 

“I couldn’t quite here that, bluebird.”

 

“I’ll sing! Promise, Muds!”

 

The knee and hand lifted away. Stuart listened to his bassist walking across the room as he got up on his own. When he turned around, Murdoc was sitting on the couch and staring over it at his singer. He motioned for Stu to start. The bluebird thought of a song, any song, and, clearing his throat, wobbly went through the first verse that came to mind. 

 

“I got my head checked, by a jumbo je-”

 

“No you fuckin’- somethin’ original. What’d I give you that book for if you ain’t fuckin’  _ writing _ ? I’m not doin’ another tribute band.”

 

Only one original song came to mind. The bluebird felt himself crumble in more on himself as he started the chorus. 

 

“Brother, please just do, yeah, do what you must do. Don’t trust those that you meet. They might promise you that the water ain’t deep.”

 

Murdoc looked towards the window, staring out into the rain. Then he snapped his fingers and held out his hand. Stu, elegant as always, took the few steps forward to set his hand in the offered palm. The bassist immediately dumped it out with a scowl, “The book I gave you, dullard. You  _ did _ write that down in the book, right 2D?”

 

2D nodded and rushed off to go find his small white tome. It turned out to be in the front room with all of his clothes and such. He rushed it back upstairs just as fast as his legs could carry him, only stumbling once on the stairs. His breathing was near erratic as he handed the book over. Murdoc flipped it open, going through it page after page. He raised his eyebrow at a page that just had the words double bass written in large letters on it before continuing on. After a half minute of searching, Murdoc scoffed. 

 

“What’s the name of that song?”

 

It took 2D a second to remember what they were talking about, “Oh, uh, New Genesis ah fink. Iss kind of like a cool alternative name.”

 

“Yeah, we’re changing that,” Murdoc muttered as he finally found the page. He grabbed a pen from the coffee table and started going through it, changing lyrics as he pleased. 2D could only stare as his song was molded to the bassist’s whim. He wanted desperately to give his own input, but the dull pounding of his back reminded him of what mood the bassist was in today. Finally, the book was shoved back into his hands with a command to sing. He looked over the new chorus and tried it again with the same melody. 

 

“Brother, sister too, do what you must do. Don’t trust people you meet, yeah yeah. They might promise you that the river ain’t deep.”

 

As much as he disliked his writing being changed, he had to admit this sounded better. Murdoc’s sharp-toothed grin seemed to show off his own approval of the change. He seemed to relax into the leather couch. 2D stood awkwardly for a few seconds, then turned to leave. 

 

“Hold up one sec, ‘D. When’s your bus supposed to get here?”

 

“Uh, three-thirty. Ah wos gonna leave at one t’ make th’ walk to town.”

 

“Are you kiddin’ me? It’s pourin’ out there! You hang tight an’ I’ll give you a lift in the Winnie. Can’t have my bluebird catchin’ a cold now, can I? Not when we’re on the brink of somethin’ fantastic! I’ll tell ya, we’ve got a hit on our hands!”

 

2D nodded and quickly made his way out of the room. He wanted to go right now. He wanted to run far away from Kong and never come back. Something about it kept him there, and he was still waiting to be taken to the station at three-thirty that afternoon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was avoiding finishing my final essay and suddenly got slapped across the face with inspiration. I wouldn't expect much more from this fic for a while, but I hoped y'all enjoyed this chapter! About this chapter though, wasn't that fucked up and out of nowhere? I really meant it when I said Murdoc was gonna be a bastard in this fic

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed and come talk to me on Tumblr (@grlz-babe)
> 
> Have a great day and stay safe, y'all!


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